


None of Us are Free From This Horror

by pasdesujet



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character Death(s), POV Minor Character, POV Original Character, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-16
Updated: 2009-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdesujet/pseuds/pasdesujet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The repossession process, seen through the eyes of the victim. One-shot, originally posted on FanFiction.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	None of Us are Free From This Horror

I was tired of running, but I didn't stop.

What had previously been my desperation to survive had now faded into the need for some kind of routine. My days seemed to revolve around running, hiding and - if I was especially lucky - getting a hit.

The only interaction I had with other people now was with the other addicts in the alleyways as we waited for the self-proclaimed King of the Underworld to grace us with his presence. He was one of two figures of power in my life now. He controlled all of the addicts, pulling us along and teasing us, making us play his games. He knew he had every last person there wrapped around his little finger, you could tell that from the wolfish smirk he wore on his face every time he turned up. Oh, what I wouldn't give for him to be around now. What I wouldn't give to experience the release the drug gave me. Once the gun sparked I didn't have to care. With that glowing, euphoria-enducing drug coursing through my body it was as though the last ninety days had never happened.

Ninety days . . . It seemed to be a recurring phrase these days. I couldn't pretend that I hadn't been given ample warning, of course. The GENterns had made it very clear that if I didn't, couldn't or just decided not to make my payments then I'd be in trouble. It wasn't that I hadn't _tried_ to get the money. The problem was that I hadn't prepared herself for how much pain I'd be in after the surgery.

GeneCo had given me a handful of vials when I'd left them, but everyone knew that their version of the drug wasn't as strong as the pure, organic stuff the street dealers sold. Everyone also knew how much more addictive the street version was, but that hadn't stopped me. So all of my money went to _him_ , for the moments of utter bliss that the drug gave me.

Still I ran. That second figure of power was close now. My GeneCo patented, barcode-carrying heart pounded in my chest as I ran. This second person also offered me an escape, but it was not the one that I wanted. I wanted bliss, euphoria, while he brought with him only pain and eternal darkness, and there was already more than enough of that in the world.

How many times had I come across one of his victims before GeneCo had managed to clear them away? They called him the Night Surgeon around here, for reasons that were plainly obvious. He butchered whomever he was told to, returning the organs as good as new. It was sickening, and if I didn't hurry up it was going to be _my_ heart handed back to them.

I could hear the blood pounding in my ears, but it felt like I was slowing down. I willed myself to keep going, but I'd been running for what felt like hours. The final straw came as the alley I had been running down became a dead end. The palms of my hands slammed against the cold, wet bricks and I gasped for breath.

I could hear him, less than thirty feet away from me now. I felt like a child when the tears started to form in my eyes. I'd spent so long trying to survive, and it was all about to come to nothing. I'd be just another corpse dumped into the mass graves, just another body for the drug to be extracted from.

I couldn't turn around and face him.

I didn't want to die.

Almost silently, he came and stood behind me. Through the helmet I could hear his breathing, which sent chills dancing down my spine. Before I knew what was happening, he'd turned me around and flung me against the wall. He was incredibly strong. Cold steel pressed against my throat, and in one swift movement, he cut me. Out of instinct my hand shot to the wound and my fingers were coated in my own blood as I fell to my knees.

This wasn't fair. Inside my head I was screaming at myself, at my murderer, at the world. I was still alive - barely - as he sliced open my chest. I could _feel_ the blood draining out of my body, which was growing weaker by the second. I was so near to death.

My eyes were locked on the harsh, blue light inside his helmet. It reminded me of the drug. How could something that brought me happiness be so similar to the thing that was killing me? I thought of our King going about his work, extracting that substance from me.

The last thing I thought was that my life would have come full circle, then.


End file.
